


Perfect, You're My Poison

by OnionRelish



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: ???? - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, curt is so oblivious, fluff at the end, happy ending bc these boys deserve the world, i'm a sucker for this trope sorry, idk if this technically counts as a slow burn but i'm tagging it anyway, lots of bickering, this completely contradicts my other fics but it's fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27965732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnionRelish/pseuds/OnionRelish
Summary: Agents Curt Mega and Owen Carvour didn't exactly meet under the best circumstances. After losing a valuable file to the British Agent, Curt makes up his mind that he detests Owen. But, after the two are stationed on a long-term mission together, their feelings slowly begin to change.(Title comes from the song "Wander. Wonder" by The Arcadian Wild)
Relationships: Cynthia Houston & Agent Curt Mega, Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 32
Kudos: 50





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> I've written the whole thing already, so I'll be posting a new chapter every day!! Stay tuned (:
> 
> also this chapter contains descriptions of fighting (not super graphic and gory, but I just wanted to throw it out there in case people are uncomfy with that!)

“If you want the files, Mega, you’re going to have to catch me first.”  
Curt grit his teeth at the sheer nerve of the arrogant British spy. Who did this guy think he was? He lunged for the manilla folder in Owen’s hand, but the other agent raised it higher above his head with a chuckle. “Oh, do try a bit harder than that, love.” Despite Owen’s use of the pet name, his words simply oozed biting sarcasm. Curt grunted, seething with rage. His mission had been simple: retrieve a top secret file from the Moroccan ambassador’s room to prevent the development of some sort of advanced weapons technology, as well as give his country the upper hand in developing it as well. He didn’t necessarily agree with his agency’s tactics morally, but hey, he had a job to do. But the American Secret Service had neglected to mention one small detail during his briefing: that there would be an MI6 agent also trying to recover these files. He still wasn’t sure of the other spy’s name, or how Owen seemed to know his, but that wasn’t of importance at the moment. Curt had been socializing in the ambassador’s ballroom all that evening, dancing with various women, indulging in the rich feast the ambassador had prepared, and making good talk with some of the other foreign ambassadors. He was posing as an advisor to the ambassador of Liechtenstein, who was actually a deep cover agent by the name of Finn Cooper. Owen was there too, constantly surrounded by a gaggle of women. Curt didn’t think much of the man back in the ballroom until Cooper had informed him that he suspected Owen was a foreign agent sent to recover the files for his own agency. Curt grumbled, as this made things much more complicated. He met Owen’s gaze a few times throughout the evening, and when he found the right moment to sneak away to the ambassador’s room, Owen had vanished. He cursed under his breath.  
“Give me the files or I’ll shoot,” Curt growled, dropping the German accent he’d been speaking with as a part of his disguise, drawing his gun and aiming at Owen’s knees. He didn’t intend on killing the other agent, as much as he wanted to, just injure him enough to be taken seriously.  
“You wouldn’t do that. It’s a violation of policy to shoot without authorization if I recall correctly.”  
“What do you know about American policy?”  
“Probably more than you do.”  
Curt laughed, completely peeved by the nerve of the British spy. “Just give me the files so I don’t have to deal with any more paperwork.” If there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was filling out paperwork. It was just so incredibly boring. Well, he probably loathed Owen a bit more than paperwork now that he thought about it.  
“I don’t think I will.”  
Curt bared his teeth, Owen was making this very difficult. “I’ll give you three seconds to hand them over.” He cocked his gun. “Three.”  
“I know you’re not going to shoot.”  
“Two.”  
“Is this seriously the intimidation tactic they teach you Yankees?”  
“One.”  
“As much as I’ve enjoyed this little verbal repartee, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline on this one,” Owen said, shooting a wink at Curt before jumping out of the ambassador’s window and sliding down the drainpipe before he had time to pull the trigger. Curt immediately followed, cursing under his breath and scurrying down the drainpipe until he was at a safe enough distance to jump onto the ground. He caught sight of Owen sprinting into the distance, expertly weaving his way in between cars as he disappeared into the darkness. As much as Curt felt a certain hatred for the other spy, he had to admit that the man was skilled. Curt pursued Owen, feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins and beads of sweat began to form on his brow. He dodged cars, hopped fences, and continued running into the night after the MI6 agent, slowly but surely gaining on him.  
His eyes flickered in the starlight as he watched Owen turn sharply into an alleyway. Curt followed, practically running face first into the other agent in the process. The British spy’s face lit up with a sneer.  
“Hand them over,” he spat, meeting Owen’s piercing gaze. His dark hair was still slicked perfectly back by some mysterious force of nature, and he still wore that devilish smirk on his lips that begged Curt to come closer, to dare and take the files from him. Curt raised his fist as a warning, stepping forward until Owen’s back was pressed up against the brick wall. At that moment he knew Owen wouldn’t back down, so Curt prepared himself to strike.  
“Make me,” retorted Owen, a flash of mischief lighting up his deep brown eyes. Curt swung his fist toward the MI6 agent’s face, feeling his knuckles collide with Owen’s jaw. The other spy looked taken aback to say the least, and for a short moment they just stood and stared at each other, matching each other’s intensity with every passing second.  
“You surprise me, Mega,” he said, briefly bringing his hand to his jaw to massage it. Then Curt felt a sharp pain to his cheek, and soon they were both throwing punches, each trying to wrestle the files from the other’s grasp. Curt felt the blood pumping in his veins, the sound overpowering the various grunts and noises of the scuffle. Until he felt Owen knee him right in the crotch. He let out a stream of profanities as he doubled over in pain, and just as quickly as Owen had arrived, he was gone. Curt felt like he was going to vomit, from both the pain and the realization that Cynthia would have his head on a silver platter.  
—  
Of course, he had been verbally assaulted with every curse word known to man when he returned to Cynthia’s office empty handed.  
“You let that greasy bastard get away with those files? Seriously, Mega, could you be any more of a colossal screw up of an agent? You know, sometimes I really wonder why I let you on this mission anyway, I should have known better than to leave an incredibly important objective in your hands, you thick-headed dunce!”  
Cynthia dismissed him with the flick of her wrist, sending a small cloud of ash raining down on his new tuxedo from the cigarette balanced in between her fingertips. 

Curt felt the hatred for this agent grow even more, wrapping itself around his heart and choking it like a weed. His hate blossomed into a deep resentment, contempt even. And when Cynthia dragged him into her office to let him know that he’d be teaming up with Special Agent Owen Carvour on his next mission, Curt was absolutely steaming.  
“Are you crazy? This guy’s a total loose cannon! He can’t be trusted, Cynthia.” With a roll of her eyes and a long drag from her cigarette, Cynthia shook her head.  
“You need to get over yourself, Curt. Carvour’s apparently one of the best agents MI6 has. This mission will require an immense deal of focus, which you clearly lack, hence Carvour’s involvement. You better not screw this up, Curt, or I swear I will strangle you myself upon your return.” She rested her heels on her desk, crossing her ankles as she exhaled. “You’re the best agent we’ve got, Curt. So don’t go dying on me. I know you and Carvour don’t exactly get along, but you’ll need to put that behind you in order for this mission to be a success. Now get out of my office.”


	2. Something Fishy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haha get it the title's a pun bc they go to a seafood restaurant. Laugh, laugh I say. Anyway, Curt and Owen are stationed on a mission in Peru together to take down a small but deadly terrorist organization. Tensions run high as they track down one of the group's members.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I speak a little Spanish but I apologize if my grammar is wrong! Also no trigger warnings for this chapter (:

“Mega.”

“Carvour.”

Both men dipped their heads respectfully as they met in the airport of Huanchaco, Peru. Owen sighed,

“Look. We need to talk about Morocco.” 

“Yeah, we sure do,” Curt said, mustering every ounce of venom that he could as he spoke. 

“Apologize,” they both said simultaneously. Curt’s expression shifted from one of surprise to one of intense anger.

“Why should I apologize? You’re the one who stole the files from me and kicked me in the balls!”

“Well you’re the one who threatened to shoot me,” Owen said, his voice still calm, but on the verge of snapping. They both stood there for a moment, arms crossed in disdain, neither one willing to stand down. 

“Fine,” Owen said coldly after a long pause, “I’m sorry. Now you say it back.”

“No,” Curt said smugly, turning up his chin at the other agent.

“God, Mega, act like an adult! You’re going to kill me by the end of this if I don’t wind up killing you first.” Owen tapped his fingers against his arm impatiently, his frustration beginning to show through his collected demeanor. 

“I’m sorry,” Curt said, the ingenuine tone in his voice apparent. “You happy now?”

“Just peachy.” 

“Now let’s just get this job done, okay? I don’t want to have to deal with you any longer than I have to.”

“Well isn’t that endearing.”

“Shut up.” 

Their task was a simple, yet important one. They were charged with the surveillance of a quaint seafood restaurant. Curt had asked what a tiny little restaurant had to do with national security, and Cynthia responded by rolling her eyes and explaining that a small, but deadly group of terrorists had been using this restaurant as a rendezvous location for the past couple of months. A notable member of this organization, a Miss Jamie Flores, was possibly scheduled to arrive at the restaurant some time that night according to some telephone calls that were intercepted by MI6. If she showed, they were authorized to get her alone by whatever means necessary and take her alive for questioning. 

It was hot. Much too hot for Curt’s liking. He had changed out of his tuxedo for a nice t-shirt and slacks, as this stakeout was not exactly going to be clean. He could feel the oppressive heat weighing on his shoulders like a sandbag, sweat pouring down his face and neck. They lay on their stomachs in the dirt, peering through some bushes with special binoculars Barb had invented earlier that year.

“See anything?” Owen asked for the umpteenth time in the last few minutes.

“No, I told you, I’ll tell you as soon as I’ve got a visual,” Curt snapped. 

“Shh! Don’t want them to hear us, love,” Owen said, a patronizing tinge to the pet name. Curt clenched his jaw, wallowing in the burning hatred he felt for this man. Owen was the one that brought it up anyway, so why was he getting upset? Curt looked over, and he still had that smug smirk on his face, like he was actually enjoying making him angry. What a prick. They lay in silence for hours, and he could definitely feel the tension hanging thick between them like jungle vines. 

“So what made you want to be a spy?” Owen asked.

“Like you care,” Curt shot back.

“Hey, it’s either that or continue to sit here.” Owen had a point. He was going absolutely bored out of his brain. Curt itched for some action, just _something_ other than this. Waiting around. 

“Wanted some excitement I guess. I grew up in a small town, so I never had much going on as a kid. That and it beats working in an office, even if I do get kicked in the balls occasionally by an obnoxious British agent.” Owen’s lips upturned in a slight smile as Curt spoke.

“Is that how you truly think of me? I’m touched, really.” His voice oozed sarcasm, but it wasn’t the biting kind that Curt had grown sort of accustomed to. It wasn’t kind, by any means, but it was playful. 

“So?”

“So what?”

“Why’d you become a spy?” Curt asked, glancing over at Owen. His brows knit, and his face took on a serious, thoughtful expression. It evoked a strange emotion in Curt’s chest that he couldn’t quite place, seeing Owen like that. 

“Dunno, it seemed interesting. I wanted to become an actor, actually, but that didn’t really work out for me.” 

Curt had to stifle a laugh. “You? An actor?” He couldn’t picture the intense, grave man lying beside him singing and dancing on a stage with a big smile on his face. 

“What’s so funny, hm?” 

“I just can’t picture you like that.”

“Well you hardly know me, so I’d say you aren’t one who should be making judgements, Mega.” They returned to the same silence that had hung over their heads a few minutes ago, only this time it was at least a bit more bearable. Curt and Owen traded off looking through the binoculars, trying to spot Flores as soon as they could. 

“What’s the plan when we get inside?” Owen asked.

“Plan?” Curt echoed. “I was thinking we’d figure it out as we went.”

Owen chuckled, “You can’t be serious. Curt Mega, the best agent of the Secret Service, is just going to wing it?”

“Yeah, that was my intention. It’s worked for me every mission so far.”

Owen laughed some more to himself, “Fine, I’ll handle it. I’ll flirt around with her, get her alone outside, then cuff her. You can be backup.”

Curt scoffed, “Why do I have to be backup? I’m great with women, I’ll be the one to get her outside.” This wasn’t exactly true, but he wasn’t going to let Agent Carvour just stroll in there and have all the fun. He wanted in on the action too. Curt could flirt, but it came across as a bit stiff, considering he wasn’t exactly a grade-A heterosexual. But Owen didn’t need to know that, in fact, he could never know that. 

“Because you have a temper, Mega, and besides, I can probably flirt much better than you. I saw you floundering around in Morocco, you were hopeless.”

Curt didn’t say anything, grumbling to himself and returning to the task at hand. He spotted a tall woman, dark-skinned with long black hair. That was their mark. 

“I’ve got a visual,” he said, standing up quickly.

Owen yanked him back down by the arm, “Patience, Mega, wait for her to get inside first, otherwise she’ll see us.” 

“Don’t touch me,” he said, shoving Owen’s hand off his arm.

“Right, my apologies, I’m supposed to buy you dinner first.” Curt’s face flushed intensely. Did he know? Was Owen aware of his inclinations and just mocking him for it? A pang of fear pierced his chest, and for a split second Curt began to panic. He took a few deep breaths, no. There was no way for Owen to know, right? It was just a lighthearted joke. 

“Piss off, Carvour,” he grumbled somewhat under his breath. 

When the coast was clear, both Curt and Owen stepped inside the restaurant, much to Owen’s chagrin. Curt was the first to approach Flores at her corner booth. He sat down across from her while Owen watched in the distance.

“¿Está ocupado este asiento?” Curt asked, flashing her his most dazzling smile, asking her if the seat across from her was taken. He felt grateful for his lessons in Spanish he’d taken in college. 

“No,” Flores responded with a faint smile of her own. “¿Cómo te llamas, señor?” 

“Lo que sea que te gustaría que fuera,” he responded as the woman asked for his name. Whatever she would like it to be. Curt shot Flores a wink, to which she responded with a slight giggle. He looked up at Owen briefly with his eyebrows raised, as if to say _see, I’ve got this._

He leaned forward, “¿Nosotras caminaremos afuera?” Curt hoped he had phrased it right, asking Flores if she’d care to join him outside. 

Flores grabbed his collar and smiled, “Un poco presuntuosos, señor.” A bit presumptuous? This was not a good sign. She drew him in closer, then abruptly pushed him back into his seat. Owen promptly ran over and rested a hand on Flores’ shoulder. 

“Lo siento mucho por él, señorita,” he said, apologizing for Curt’s behavior. “Por favor, déjame pagar tu comida.” He offered to pay for her food to compensate. 

Curt stood up, thoroughly humiliated, and slunk back to another booth where he could watch Owen but not be seen. He heard snippets of their conversation, Owen introducing himself under an alias and Flores doing the same. They chatted for a while, Flores erupting in soft laughter at Owen’s every word. Curt positively fumed at the scene in front of him. Seeing Owen so easily flirting with this woman made him incredibly upset for some reason. He played it off as his pride being wounded, because that’s all it was, right? Curt didn’t like to be shown up, he was the best spy out there, after all, and every single interaction he had with Owen resulted in him getting one-upped. It was infuriating. 

He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he barely realized that Owen and Flores were not in their seats anymore. Curt kept his hand on his gun as he walked outside, pushing open the door and coming out to see Owen and Flores making out like there was no tomorrow. His hands were on her waist and hers were in his hair, and it made Curt feel like he was going to vomit. Briefly composing himself, he pulled out his gun.

“Hands in the air, Flores!” He shouted, and Owen immediately pulled back, raising his own gun as well and reaching for the cuffs in his back pocket. The look on her face said it all, and Curt smiled triumphantly at her distress. 

After some of MI6’s agents took Flores in for questioning, Owen jogged over to catch up with Curt as he walked down the street to find the hotel he was supposed to be staying at. They walked in silence for a moment, and Curt was forced to admit to himself that Owen Carvour was a great spy. 

“Nice work today, Mega,” he said cheerfully, “even though I did most of the heavy lifting.” Curt should have expected that last bit, the other agent’s statements would never be complete without some sort of jab at him.

“If you would have let me—“ Curt began, but Owen cut him off.

“If I would have let you continue talking to her, Flores would’ve left. Or worse, called one of her friends and had us both killed. So I’d say a ‘thank you’ is in order.”

“Fat chance,” Curt shot back, crossing his arms. 

“I’m sure you’ll have better luck next time,” Owen said, patting him on the shoulder with a faint snicker. 

“Woah, woah, next time?” He echoed.

“Of course. Didn’t your boss tell you? We’re going to be working together until this little terrorist group has been defeated.”

Curt groaned at the thought of having to spend more time with Owen. At least he’d have time to prove himself to the other spy, that he wasn’t a complete failure of an agent. “Don’t look so glum, love, you’ve still got time to catch up to me. So far I’m winning both the number of files retrieved and women successfully flirted with, but hey, you gave it your best shot,” Owen said teasingly. Curt kept silent, the anger brewing even more within his chest at every word the other spy uttered.

He was filled with relief as the hotel came into view. Curt checked in with the receptionist, taking the key to his room. 

“I assume you’re staying here as well?” He asked.

Owen nodded, motioning in the direction of his room, “Right down the hall. Goodnight, Mega, we’ll reconvene tomorrow and figure out what the next step in bringing these guys down will be.” 

Despite his passionate make out session with their mark, Owen had managed to perfectly slick back his hair and readjust his collar. Figures, the other agent was just so perfect. So good at everything he set his mind to. A frustrated sigh escaped Curt’s lips, and he bid Owen goodnight. It was great to be alone. Away from the incredibly obnoxious MI6 agent, and away from being shown up at every opportunity. Curt quickly fell into a dreamless sleep, doing his best not to think about what the next day might hold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like & comment if you can!! It seriously means the world to me!! Also next chapter is a good one I promise so stay tuned for when I post it tomorrow!!


	3. A Wayward Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> idek what this chapter title is i just needed some alliteration in my life. Anyways, Curt and Owen take the next step in overthrowing the terrorist organization, trying to understand their own feelings for each other along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a long one! probably my favorite one to write tbh!! enjoy (: also i'm sorry i literally don't know how anything works, I did a little research but I just made most of this up skjdsbfjs ALSO TW for blood, it's not super bad, just thought I should throw that in there

Curt woke to the sound of pounding on his door. He let out a low whine, burying his face in his pillow. Checking his watch, he realized it was 6 A.M. Who would wake someone up at 6 A.M. unless it was really important? Carvour, that’s who. Curt scrambled to throw some clothes on, and rushed to the door, thinking something was wrong. He was greeted by Owen’s smug smile on the other side of the door. 

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, leaning against the door frame and laughing faintly. “You look… professional.” 

Curt smoothed his hair down, brushing it to one side and frowning up at the other agent.

“What was that for? Do you realize how early it is?” 

“Need I remind you, we do have a terrorist organization to stop, and it’s a bit of a big deal.”

Curt rolled his eyes, “Couldn’t it wait for just another hour or two?” 

Owen shook his head, dragging Curt outside and into the hotel lobby. “Nope. We have to get to work straight away, crime waits for no man.”

“What about breakfast?”

“We don’t have time for breakfast, Agent Mega.” 

Curt frowned, “Carvour, it’s the most important meal of the day. It’s not good for you to not eat breakfast.”

“Aww, he does care about me.”

“Shove off. I was only saying that because  _ I’m  _ hungry. Do they have anything to eat around here?” 

“I believe they have  _ Butifarra  _ as a part of the complimentary breakfast buffet.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like a ham sandwich. There’s onion relish too, it’s quite good actually.” 

“Hm, alright.” 

With a little convincing, Curt managed to get Owen to take a twenty minute breakfast break. The food was delicious, and they ate in a comfortable silence. Curt hated people watching him eat, and Owen was no exception. He devoured his sandwich as quickly as possible and wiped the corners of his mouth with his arm. 

“Alright, so what’s next?” Curt asked. “We’ve got Flores, did MI6 get anything out of her?”

Owen nodded, “Mhmm, she gave up a few names of some higher-ups, no locations though.”

“Do they know what the group’s goals are?”

“Not exactly. We know that they aim to attack some important public figure, but we don’t yet know who or how.” 

“So what’s our next move?”

“Pay some of the higher-ups a visit and try to get some information out of them ourselves.”

—

Curt waited outside the door of a small shack, his gun drawn. He pressed his ear against the door, listening for any sign that someone was home. They’d managed to track down one of the names given up by Flores, Diego Díaz, a short and wiry man with a missing eye. Intimidating, to say the least, but between the two of them, they could take him. From inside the room came the distinct sound of shuffling feet, along with a faint sniffling and the sound of heavy exhalations. Yep, Díaz was definitely home. Curt gave Owen a nod, as if to say  _ I’ve got this _ . He placed a swift kick with the heel of his foot next to the keyhole, the door swinging wide open and allowing for the two agents to enter. Díaz shouted something in Spanish that Curt didn’t understand, reaching slowly for something in his waistband.

“Mega!” Owen shouted.

Curt quickly fired, knocking the man’s gun from his hand. He then pointed his gun once more to the now cowering Díaz. The man lifted his hands into the air tentatively, and Curt forced his hands behind him as Owen held him at gunpoint. He bound the man’s wrists with some rope he’d brought, sitting him down in a chair and tying his ankles to the chair’s legs.

“¿Cómo te llamas?” Curt asked. 

“What are you doing?” Owen hissed through his teeth, “We already know his name.”

“Let me handle this, I know what I’m doing,” Curt shot back. 

He once again asked for Díaz’s name, this time more forcefully, “¿Cómo te llamas?” 

“Hernan Garcia,” Díaz responded, maintaining eye contact but licking his bottom lip slightly. Curt studied the man’s face for a second before asking his next question. 

“¿Para quién estás trabajando?” He barked, pacing behind Díaz. After being asked who he worked for, the man licked his lip once more.

“No se a que te refieres.” He didn’t know what Curt meant.

“Te lo pediré amablemente una vez más. ¿Para quién estás trabajando?” Curt repeated the question, explaining that he would use force if necessary.

“El Taqería de José.”

Curt administered a swift punch to the man’s stomach, “¿Para quién estás trabajando?” he asked the man who he worked for again, practically spitting on Díaz at this point. The only way to crack a man like this was brute force. This continued for some time, Curt repeating the question and Díaz giving the same answer, until he was bruised and bloody. Díaz slumped over in the chair, barely able to keep his head up at this point.

“¿Para quién estás trabajando?” Curt asked one more time, speaking softly but coldly. 

“Su nombre es… Felipe Chávez,” he said, licking his bottom lip.

Owen released his hold on the gun, “Alright, let’s find out who this Chávez is.”

Curt held up his hand as if to say  _ wait _ . “He’s lying.”

“What? Mega, he’s finally cracked, we’ve got the name, now let’s go.”

“No, he’s lying. Every time I asked him a question and he lied, he licks his bottom lip. It’s called a tell, Carvour. You ever played poker before?” 

Curt could see the pieces clicking in Owen’s mind. 

“Clever.”

“Did you just compliment me?”

“Would never dream of it, love.” Owen spoke with a smile. Curt rolled his eyes, of course the other agent wouldn’t admit that he’d lost this one. Well, it was still a win in Curt’s book regardless of Owen’s refusal to accept it. 

Curt turned back to Díaz, repeating the question once more accompanied by another jab to his already swollen cheek. 

“Ramos,” he said weakly, gasping for air, “Marco Ramos.”

Curt smiled, satisfied with his work. “¿Dónde podríamos encontrar a este hombre?” He asked where they might find Ramos. Owen pulled out a small pad of paper and pen from his jacket’s pocket, scribbling down the address of this Marco Ramos as Díaz explained where to find him. Curt asked the man for more details, who they were planning on targeting, along with where and when the attacks would be. They didn’t get much else out of him, so Curt decided to call it a day and let MI6 take care of the rest of the interrogation process. 

“I think we’re finished here. Carvour, want to call your guys over to pick him up?”

“They’re already on their way,” Owen said, the faintest hints of a genuine smile forming across his lips. 

—

“Let’s do something fun tonight to celebrate, what do you say, Carvour?” Curt asked once they returned to their hotel and got cleaned up. 

“Celebrate what exactly?”

“That I won,” he smiled triumphantly. 

“You won in  _ one  _ category, Mega, that’s hardly a reason to celebrate.”

“I think it is. Now we’ve got the name of the boss, and your agency will probably get more details from Díaz tonight.”

“What did you have in mind?” 

“I dunno, we could see if there are any bars near here. I could really go for a drink right about now.” 

“Alright, but keep in mind that we’ve got work to do tomorrow, so don’t go running off with any women while we’re there. We need to be well rested.” 

Curt chuckled, “Wasn’t planning on it, don’t worry, Carvour.” The words slipped from his tongue before he could think about what he was actually saying. Hopefully Owen would take this as him simply being a professional, not that he wasn’t interested in women at all. 

They made their way to a local bar, sitting down at the counter. Curt ordered a whiskey on the rocks, and Owen ordered a vermouth. They engaged in somewhat pleasant small talk, swapping tales about their pasts. Mainly previous missions, but each man told a bit about his family, just enough to where they were starting to get a bit more comfortable with one another. Curt couldn’t honestly say he liked Owen, but the sort of hatred he had previously felt was dissipating. Instead there was a sort of lurking annoyance with the British spy, a peeved indifference at best. But he couldn’t deny that they worked well together. His recklessness was almost balanced out by Owen’s careful planning. And he felt his spontaneity would be a valuable asset as well compared to Owen’s tendency to stick to a rigid schedule. And as he had a few more drinks, and the warm and fuzzy glow of the whiskey began to spread throughout his body, he had to admit that Owen looked… good. His stupidly perfect hair and that completely irritating smile, crooked just ever so slightly. And those eyes. Curt could get lost in them. He could search those deep irises for an eternity and still find new colors and emotions. His eyes were thoughtful, and Curt could see the sparkling wit in those dark brown pools, the mischief shimmering in his pupils like the first stars appearing in the night sky. Curt shook his head, no, he was drunk. Even though he was gay, there was no way he could ever be with Owen Carvour. For one, he didn’t even like Owen. Sure, the British agent was pretty to look at, but he was insufferable. Way too stiff and serious for his liking. And besides, he saw how Owen was kissing Flores, there was no way his nonexistent emotions would be reciprocated even if he did feel them. 

“You’ve been quiet,” Owen noticed. He definitely seemed a bit tipsy, his words started to slur together a bit and there was a certain ruddiness to his cheeks that hadn’t been present before. 

“Just thinking,” Curt said. 

“About what?”

“Nothing important.”

A woman sitting to Curt’s left tried to get his attention throughout the night. They chatted for a bit, Curt turning down every offer for her to buy him a drink or meet up for dinner. She eventually took the hint and struck up a conversation with Owen instead. They seemed to hit it off, but when she asked to talk to him alone he politely declined. Dejected, the woman offered them both a forced smile and left. 

They continued to drink, continued to talk. And Curt enjoyed it. Then they both returned to the hotel and went their separate ways.

—

“Rise and shine, love!” Came a familiar, muffled voice on the other side of the door. At least Owen wasn’t hammering on it like yesterday. Curt rubbed the sleep from his eyes, groaning. He checked his watch, 5:23. The sun had barely started to rise above the horizon. Then Owen started to pound on the door. “Come on, Mega, I’ve got news! We’ve got to get to work!” Curt threw on his clothes and made himself presentable as to avoid similar embarrassment to what he’d felt the previous day. His head still hurt a bit from the previous night, and he certainly wasn’t completely awake yet. After splashing some cold water on his face, Curt felt at least a little better. He opened the door, and Owen was positively grinning ear to ear. 

“Why so early? It’s still dark outside,” Curt asked, stifling a yawn as he spoke. It was still frustrating having to wake up this early, especially since he was still nursing a headache. But, he supposed that was his own fault for having one too many whiskeys the previous night. 

“Well, MI6 got a lot of information out of our man. It appears that Díaz and Flores both belong to a small terrorist organization called Dulcamara. Nightshade in English. And they’ve been very busy experimenting with anthrax attacks over the past 20 years. Usually just local incidents, but Díaz confessed that this time they’re going to go big. They’ve got a location in Chiquitoy not too far from here where they’ve been producing the anthrax in mass amounts. Apparently the plan is to ship the anthrax using freight cars to buyers all across South America, as well as using what’s left for their own plot to assassinate General Manuel Odría, the current president of Peru. It’s a nasty little group, but luckily Díaz did a lot of talking in exchange for federal protection.”

“So what’s the plan? We can’t exactly recover  _ that  _ much anthrax.” 

Owen sighed, “That’s where you come in. I honestly don’t know. We’ve got to find a way to dispose of all the anthrax safely. I was hoping you knew something about it, I’ve never worked with this particular kind of threat before.”

Curt thought for a moment, “Anthrax spores can be destroyed using heat, so… I think I’ve got an idea.” He looked Owen dead in the eyes, “Do you trust me?”

Owen’s gaze faltered for a moment, but his eyes eventually re-met Curt’s. “I do.” 

—

The compound wasn’t hard to find, it was a large concrete bunker by the ocean’s edge, slightly obscured by some palm trees, but not hidden enough to evade detection. Owen led the way into the compound, his body language screaming nervousness. Curt assumed that the other agent didn’t trust him fully, which was understandable. He wanted to tell Owen his plan, but knew the British spy would immediately spurn the idea. It was risky, but it was the only thing he could think of. Owen was suspicious of the large briefcase Curt carried with him as they entered the compound, but he assured the other man that the contents were absolutely vital to his plan. 

They snuck quietly into the compound, their guns drawn. Moving rhythmically like clockwork, the two spies had begun to pick up on each other’s habits. Curt tended to check the right side of a room first, so Owen took the left. It was those little things that made them a great team, subconsciously picking up each other’s slack. The game was still on, however, and Curt did his best to stay ahead of Owen. He placed a bullet between a guard’s head with a triumphant grin.

“That makes two for me and one for you!” He said. Owen waved him off dismissively.

“It’s only eight in the morning, Mega, so don’t celebrate your victory just yet.” They continued through the compound, realizing that it was larger than they had anticipated. Methodically checking each and every room, they made sure to leave no witnesses behind to blow their cover.

“Four!”

“Sod off, we’ve got work to do.”

They eventually found a large room full of crates labelled  **BIOHAZARD** . This had to be it. Curt and Owen were met with gunshots as a group of guards entered the room, shouting in Spanish and firing their weapons. Curt hid behind one of the crates, peeking out from behind it to shoot at the guards, Owen doing the same until they were all on the floor, soundless. 

“Looks like we’re all tied—“

“Mega, behind you!” Owen shouted, cutting him off and delivering an expertly placed bullet between the eyes of a guard that had managed to sneak up behind them. Curt nodded appreciatively, considering the gravity of what had just happened. Owen Carvour, without a second thought, had just saved his life.

“Thanks,” he said eventually. Owen returned the nod,

“That’s what partners do,” he said casually.

“Is that what we are? Partners?” 

“It would certainly appear that way, love.” 

“Right. Well, let’s get to work then.” Curt unzipped his bag, pulling out the contents. Inside was what appeared to be some sort of pressure cooker with lots of wires protruding from it, connecting to one another in a tangled mess. 

“What’s this?” Owen asked.

“A little something one of our scientists, Barb, cooked up a few months ago. No pun intended. I’ve been dying to try it out.” 

Owen rolled his eyes at Curt's joke. “You going to explain what exactly it is or not?” 

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll kill me if I told you.” 

Owen raised an eyebrow at this, crossing his arms and looking around them to make sure that there weren’t any other unexpected surprises. 

“You’re assuming I don’t want to kill you all the time.”

“Did I assume wrong?” Owen didn’t answer, to which Curt let out a small  _ hmph  _ and smirked to himself. He tried to remember the instructions that Barb had given him to initiate the bomb. Once it was set, they had ten minutes to get as far away from the compound as possible before it exploded. Curt carefully picked it up and set it in the middle of the room, where it would destroy hopefully all of the anthrax. He fiddled with one of the wires, connecting it into an empty hole and voila, a little red timer on the side began to tick down. 

“You brought a bloody bomb?” Owen shouted. This was the first time he’d seen the other agent truly angry, and quite frankly, it sent shivers down his spine. There was a hint of something else in his voice too, Curt guessed it was fear. And it terrified him even more to know that Owen Carvour, the most level-headed man he’d ever met, was frightened. Curt didn’t have much time to think, as he was suddenly being dragged by the arm out of the compound. 

“I can’t believe you brought a  _ bomb  _ and didn’t tell me!” They wove in and out of rooms, Curt doing his best to keep up with Owen’s long stride. He was far too concentrated on running than actually giving a response, and he guessed that even if he did try to explain, Owen wouldn’t want to hear that. 

“Of all the irresponsible,” 

Owen stopped suddenly as a few more guards entered the room, drawing their weapons and starting to fire. Bullets whizzed by their heads as they reached for their guns to fire back.

“Reckless,”

Curt shot one of them dead, Owen taking out another. 

“Impulsive,”

They hid behind some of the heavy machinery, peeking their heads out to shoot. 

“Stupid things to do, you decided a bomb was the best idea! How idiotic can you be, Mega?” Owen was positively frenzied with rage. His face had gone a striking shade of red, and his eyebrows were knit. 

“It was the only thing I could think of! Plus, did you have a better idea?” Curt was getting really tired of Owen blaming him for everything, especially when it was his idea that would wind up successfully destroying all of the dangerous substance. Owen grunted in response, taking out another one of the guards. Curt stepped out to shoot, and let out a scream as a bullet grazed his shoulder. Curt fired with his good arm and shot the last of the guards, clutching his shoulder in agony. For a brief moment Owen’s gaze softened, but he became consumed by his wrath once more and began to drag Curt towards the entrance of the compound. “I can walk!” He objected sharply, trying to escape Owen’s vice-like grip. He broke free for a second, but stumbled to the ground as he tried to take a step forward. Pain clouded his vision, and soon he could barely concentrate on anything at all except for the burning sensation in his shoulder. Curt leaned up against Owen as they made their way as fast as they could outside the compound. They were both knocked to the ground as the bomb exploded, sending a huge blast of heat and energy throughout the building, decimating everything inside. Curt felt the sheer power of the explosive on his skin, they got lucky. Things could have gone a whole lot worse.

“Are you insane?” Owen snarled, “You almost got us both killed!”

“Yeah, but we got out, we destroyed the compound, that’s all that matters,” Curt objected, trying to keep his hand over the wound in his shoulder and trying not to look at it.A crimson stain had already begun to soak through the fabric of his shirt, making him feel incredibly nauseous. They walked back to the hotel in silence, much like they had on that first stakeout. Curt wanted to believe that Owen was concerned about him, but all he seemed to be feeling at the moment was pure, unadulterated anger. 

“Take your shirt off,” Owen demanded once they had safely locked themselves inside Curt’s hotel room. 

“Wh—” 

“I said take it off, Mega.” 

Curt did as he was told, feeling incredibly exposed for some reason. His face felt hot, and he tried not to meet Owen’s penetrating gaze,

“Calm down, I’m not trying to shag you,” Owen said, disappearing momentarily and returning with a first aid kit from his own room across the hall. He inspected the wound, his brows furrowed in concentration. “It’s not deep. You don’t need stitches, but I’m going to have to disinfect it, alright? This is going to hurt, Mega.” The British spy offered Curt his hand to squeeze while he poured a bit of rubbing alcohol onto a small napkin, which Curt tentatively but gratefully accepted. He grit his teeth as Owen gently pressed the napkin to his skin, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Curt squeezed Owen’s hand, trying not to squirm at the sight of his blood and the sharp sting of the disinfectant. “There,” Owen said, placing a bandage over the wound and wrapping a gauze around it to keep it secure. “That should do it.” He then moved quickly and pinned Curt against the hotel wall with a force Curt didn’t expect Owen to have. “Now tell me, what the  _ hell _ were you thinking?” He winced slightly as Owen held his shoulders against the wall. Curt looked up at the other man, noticing how hard he was breathing. Owen’s once flawless hair was now tousled, strands falling in his eyes as he bared his teeth. It was a sight to behold, seeing the other agent so… messy, for lack of a better term. So imperfect, so real. There was a fire in Owen’s eyes, consuming his irises with bright sparks. Curt opened his mouth to reply, but without warning, Owen’s lips were on his. Owen Carvour was kissing him. It wasn’t a soft kiss, it was full of anger and days of built up fury, growing in intensity with each passing second. Curt tangled his fingers in Owen’s surprisingly silky hair, tugging hard at the roots. Owen sank his teeth into Curt’s bottom lip, drawing a bit of blood, provoking a small whine to escape from Curt’s lips. It was teeth against teeth, tongue against tongue, a battle for dominance that only grew more heated as time progressed. Curt tasted the sharp metallic flavor of blood as he kissed Owen, but he didn’t mind. It was passion and wrath and electric energy dancing across their skin, filling their chests with an unquenchable fire, a sort of desire that blazed so fervently it felt like Curt was going to burn alive. It was the explosion of a supernova, sending bursts of light and color exploding in every direction until the world faded once again to black. Owen pulled away, the anger in his expression immediately draining away. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly, taking a step back. He smoothed his hair back, looking anywhere but at Curt. “I am so, so sorry, Agent Mega.”

“Curt,” he said, stepping towards Owen and resting a hand on the other spy’s shoulder. “You can call me Curt.” He had to laugh, “I think we’re beyond formalities at the moment.” 

Owen adjusted the collar of his jacket, his face more flushed than Curt had ever seen it. “Well, er,  _ Curt _ . I am so incredibly sorry for throwing myself at you, that was unprofessional to say the least, and morally wrong at worst, I just assumed, and I’m just so—”

“Owen.” Curt lifted a hand to raise the other agent’s chin, meeting his gaze. Hearing Owen say his name was like a drug. The way the word rolled off his tongue was like sweet honey, the very sound of it making Curt want to beg Owen to say it again and again.  _ Chant my name like it’s the last words you’ll ever say _ . And speaking Owen’s name had a similar effect on him. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops. Owen. Owen. Owen! Over and over again, he replayed their names in his head. “Owen, I said it’s fine.” 

“You don’t understand, Curt, this is illegal, and it’s wrong—”

Curt brought a finger to the British spy’s lips, “Shh. It’s okay.” Hearing the complete despair in Owen’s voice broke his heart, shattering his soul into pieces. He wasn’t sure how he felt at the moment to be honest. I mean, Owen Carvour just  _ kissed  _ him. There was an unmistakable buzzing of energy in his chest, and certainly butterflies in his stomach. “I’m,” he gently traced his thumb down Owen’s cheek, “I’m just like you, Owen. I’m just like you.”

“Curt, I… I don’t know what to say.” 

“Then shut your mouth and don’t say anything.”

Owen nodded, wrapping Curt in his arms and resting his cheek on the other agent’s shoulder. Curt could feel the steady rising and falling of his breath, the heart beating in his chest. Owen seemed so human, so tangible. He wasn’t this unattainable force anymore, something had changed between them to say the least. He felt Owen’s warm breath against his neck, which strangely soothed him into closing his eyes for a second. 

“I just,” Owen said, taking a deep breath and pulling away, “I never thought that I’d meet someone like you, Curt. And you’re a real pain in the arse, but you really had me worried back there. To think I could have lost you before… Before this.

“Don’t think about that, just think about here, okay? I’m right here.” 

Owen nodded, moving towards the door uncomfortably. “I suppose I’ll see you in the morning then, Mega?” 

“Owen, wait,” Curt said. He paused, contemplating what he was about to say for the first time in his life. This changed everything. There was no going back to whatever they were before this moment. From rivals, to partners, to whatever this was. The look on Owen’s face sent his heart sinking in his chest. It was that dreadful feeling of  _ oh no _ . Curt bit his lip, this could not be happening right now. But something about seeing Owen this vulnerable, this scared and upset and angry and just  _ human _ made it impossible for Curt to deny the feelings that bubbled like poison in his chest. “Do you want to stay here tonight?” 

Owen looked relieved, and he stepped closer to Curt. 

“I’d love nothing more.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CURTWEN KISS CURTWEN KISS CURTWEN KISS CURTWEN KISS CURTWEN KISS


	4. I Guess We're Doing This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get awkward (-: but also sprinkled in some domestic Curtwen bc i live for it

They both got ready for bed in their respective rooms. Curt took this time to try and process what had just happened. He was still in shock, to say the least. He scrunched his face up as he got changed into his pajamas, which was really just an oversized t-shirt and shorts, trying to make sense of what he felt inside of him. Owen had saved his life back in the compound, putting his own safety before Curt’s. Owen had also kissed him, which did something to his brain that he couldn’t quite figure out. Yes, Owen Carvour was attractive in every sense of the word. But he wasn’t quite sure if his reaction to what had transpired only minutes before was purely carnal, or if it was something deeper than that. He wouldn’t call Owen a friend, but he wasn’t exactly a foe anymore either. Curt was confused, that much was certain. As far as he could tell from before their confrontation in the hotel room, Owen didn’t even like him. Or were all the teasing jabs, casual pet names, and competitions something more? Curt felt incredibly stupid for not picking up on the hints Owen had dropped so obviously throughout the entire time they had been working together. It all was beginning to make sense now, the reason why Owen had been so incredibly angry with him, all of it was coming together. Then Curt heard a knock at the door. 

“Come in,” he said. Owen stepped inside the small room rather sheepishly, wearing a t-shirt and sweats presumably provided by MI6 judging by their uniformity. Owen didn’t say anything, and sat on the edge of the bed. “So… How exactly do you want to go about this?” Curt asked, joining him. “We can put a pillow in between us if that’s more comfortable for you.” Owen nodded.

“I think that’ll be best for now.” Curt propped up a pillow on the middle of the bed, separating them. “Oh, come on, you’ve got to give me a bit more room than that.” There was the Owen he knew. 

“It’s right in the middle and you know it.” Curt smiled, lying on his back. 

“Well I’m taller, so I should get more room.”

“By what, an inch or two?”

“At least three, love.” Owen’s breath caught as he uttered the pet name. “Sorry, is it okay if I call you that? I didn’t mean to assume…”

“No, yeah, it’s fine,” he said quickly. Curt looked at Owen over their pillow wall. “I liked it.” Owen met his words with a small smile, and turned to lie on his side, facing Curt. 

“This… This doesn’t have to change anything between us,” Owen said, “if you don’t want it to.”

“Alright, um, let me just think about it. This is all a lot to process.”

“That’s understandable. Goodnight, Curt.” 

“Night, Owen.” 

Curt was out like a light. He had the blessing of being able to fall asleep incredibly quickly, and soon fell into a dreamless slumber. Curt was awoken in the middle of the night by a faint, sleepy groan from Owen. 

“Curt, you’re hogging all the blankets,” he said, the tiredness in his voice apparent. Curt responded by pulling the covers tighter around his body, to which Owen grumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow between them. “Curt Mega, I swear I’ll kill you if you don’t let me have some, I’m freezing.” 

“Fiiiiine,” Curt said, his tone whiny. “But I’m blaming you when I wake up with frostbite.” He shifted in the bed, allowing Owen to pull the blankets towards him. And Curt soon fell back asleep. 

When he woke up, he wasn’t cold at all. Curt opened his eyes, and there, right in front of his face, was Owen. His arms were wrapped around Owen’s shoulders, and Owen’s were hugging his waist. The pillow separating them had fallen onto the ground somehow. Curt recoiled slightly, not sure how to feel about being so close to Owen. Though the sleepy expression the other agent wore was enough to convince him to close his eyes again. It was so strange seeing Owen so incredibly peaceful looking. A few locks of hair fell over his eyes, and a faint smile graced the agent’s lips. It was in that moment, in tha tranquil hotel room in Peru, that Curt realized that he could get used to this. Used to sleeping next to Owen, used to smelling his expensive cologne, used to seeing the first rays of the morning light fall across his resting face. It was a surprisingly nice feeling, the pieces of the puzzle clicking in his mind. He may just like Owen Carvour after all. Curt brushed the hair from the other agent’s face, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. 

“Mmm?” Owen stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. He practically jumped back as he realized the position he was in. “Curt, you— I,” Owen pulled his arms away from Curt, lying on his back. After an awkward moment of silence between them, Owen spoke. “Are we… Are we doing this now? Curt, I’m just trying to figure out what this is.” He gestured vaguely to the two of them. “Us.” Owen looked so concerned, so worried. And Curt couldn’t blame him. This was weird and uncomfortable and awkward, but somehow perfect. “Are we friends? Just partners? Enemies?” 

“I don’t want to be your friend, or just a partner, or your enemy.” Curt turned to Owen, meeting the other agent’s gaze. “I want to be yours, Owen. Please let me be yours.” Owen didn’t say anything for a long time. He stared up at the ceiling and just breathed, looking deep in thought. Curt was afraid he’d ruined something good by being too forward, too brazen. “We can still be either of those things though, if you’d prefer,” he said, hurriedly trying to fix the situation. 

“No, Curt. I’d like to be with you.” Owen turned towards Curt and took his hands, holding onto them tightly. “It’s just going to be difficult. It’s not legal, for one.”

“We’re spies, Owen, we do illegal things all the time. What’s one more going to hurt?” Owen smiled at this.

“Finally putting that brain to use, I see. Took long enough.” 

“Hey, who came up with the idea to blow up the compound?”

“That was a horrible idea, love.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Barely. You nearly got us killed.”

“Would you have kissed me if I hadn’t?” Owen didn’t have a response for this. Curt smiled victoriously. 

“Touche.” 

They lingered in bed long after the sun rose, drinking in the light and enjoying each other’s company hand in hand. Owen eventually got up to help Curt change his bandage, and after he was done placed a soft kiss over the gauze. They held an unspoken sort of truce to stop their little competition, knowing full well that they were drawn to each other without having to verbalize it. Actions spoke louder than words, after all. Looking up at Owen as he put away the medical kit, he stood up and pulled Owen into a kiss. It was sweet and gentle and full of meaning he couldn’t put into words. Owen rested one hand on Curt’s waist, bringing the other up to lightly trace the agent’s jaw. Curt pulled back slightly, moving his lips down Owen’s cheek to the crook of his neck, just barely grazing the skin there. Owen let out a faint moan as he did so. 

“Curt,” he groaned, drawing his name out, “you’re such a tease.” Curt smiled deviously in return, lightly nipping the soft skin just below Owen’s jaw. This prompted another, slightly louder moan out of Owen. 

“Careful, don’t want to wake the neighbors,” Curt said, pulling back. 

“Curt Mega, you’re insufferable.” Owen was bright red, his face beginning to sweat a bit. 

“That’s why you like me so much.” Curt purposefully avoided the word ‘love’. Because what they had wasn’t really love, was it? There may have been a mutual attraction to one another, sure, but Curt wasn’t even sure that Owen actually cared for him in a non-lascivious manner. 

“That I do. Heaven knows why,” Owen said with a laugh. “But I do care about you Curt, despite the fact that I can’t stand you at times.”

“ _ You _ can’t stand  _ me _ ? Think of what I have to deal with!”

“Sod off, you’re lucky to have me as a partner.”

“I suppose I am.”

“Did you just admit that I’m right?”

“No, I would never do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re always wrong.”

“Was I wrong when I said I could flirt better than you?” Curt didn’t say anything in return for a moment, crossing his arms. 

“Was I wrong when I said Díaz was lying?” This caught Owen off guard a bit.

“Fine,” Owen said. “We’re both right, and we’re both wrong.”

“That literally makes no sense.”

“It would if you had a brain bigger than a biscuit.”

“I think you mean cookie.”

“No, it’s called a biscuit. Why on earth would you call it a cookie when you don’t even cook it?”

“Baking is kind of like cooking.” 

Owen laughed, “Curt, you don’t know much about the culinary arts, do you?” He shook his head no. His mom had done most of the cooking for him. Curt could throw together simple meals like spaghetti or tacos, but nothing any more challenging than that. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to teach you how to make something for lunch, then, love.” 

Curt smiled, Owen’s use of the pet name no longer sounding condescending. It was much more genuine, and he liked the feeling it gave him. “What did you have in mind?” 

“Hmm, I was thinking a chicken tikka masala would be nice. I’ve been in the mood for curry ever since I’ve arrived.” 

“I have no idea what that is,” Curt explained, “but that sounds wonderful.” 

Owen nodded, “It’s delicious. I’ll walk to the grocer’s and pick up the ingredients. You can stay here and get everything all set up. You can handle that, can’t you?”

Curt, eager to prove his worthiness to the other agent, nodded enthusiastically. “Sure can!”

“Alright, now you just need to get out a big bowl and a frying pan. Oh, and you do know how to boil rice, don’t you? There’s some in the pantry that I think would go rather nicely with the curry.” 

Curt took a mental note of what Owen had asked him to do, getting everything ready as Owen left for the grocery store. Alright, boiling rice. That wasn’t so hard, he’d practically lived off that in college. How many cups of water was he supposed to add for each cup of rice. Two, right? He poured the water into the pot, turning it on until there was a nice flame going underneath the pot. Once the water was boiling, he added the rice along with a sprinkle of salt and pepper. He may have put too much rice in, as it was rapidly expanding and starting to cram against the pot’s lid. Curt panicked and forcefully held down the lid, feeling the pressure building up in the pot. He took the pot over the sink, opening the lid and letting the excess rice spill down the drain. So much for that. There was still plenty of rice leftover, though, so Curt was satisfied. 

“Curt, what in God’s name happened here?” Owen asked as he set the grocery bags down on the counter, looking at the mess Curt had made. “There’s rice all in the sink, water all over the ground, what did you do? It’s not that hard to boil rice, love.” His tone wasn’t as angry as it had been the night before, but Owen was definitely annoyed to say the least. 

“I just added too much into the pot. I’ll clean it up.” Curt took a dish towel and wiped the ground with it, washing the excess rice down the drain. “There. Now let’s make this tiki malassa thing.”

“Tikka masala, love.” 

“Right, that.” 

Owen did most of the work, not allowing Curt to help out unless the task was easy, like adding salt and pepper or covering the bowl with a paper towel. Curt heavily objected to this, but Owen insisted that if he didn’t know how to properly boil rice, all he was going to do was mess up the slightly more difficult recipe. Curt pouted, crossing his arms and trying to explain to Owen that he knew how to make rice, he’d done it hundreds of times before, he just wasn’t used to such tiny pots. Owen sighed, giving in to Curt’s nagging.

“You know, you can be really obnoxious when you put your mind to it, Curt.”

“Why thank you, I try my best.” 

Owen rolled his eyes, handing Curt a wooden spoon to mix the tomato purée into the curry. He began to stir the mixture around, to which Owen clicked his tongue and shook his head lightly. 

“No, you’re doing it wrong, here.” Owen put his hand over Curt’s and stirred with a little more force. Curt felt a slight warmth spreading to his cheeks at Owen’s gesture. It was weird being so domestic with him. It was a whole other side of the agent that he had only gotten a glimpse of back at the bar. And even then, he was too drunk to really notice anything at all. But this was different, Owen was so concentrated on the dish and it evoked a powerful emotion within him. Curt slid his free arm around Owen’s waist as they stirred together, met with a strange look from the other agent.

“What’re you doing.” It was a statement, not a question. Curt considered drawing his arm back, but Owen didn’t seem to be objecting to his touch at all.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Curt said with a smile. Owen continued to stir, eventually releasing his grip on the spoon once it was all mixed together. 

“Perfect. Now we just need to let it simmer for a minute longer.” Curt moved to adjust the heat, making the flame underneath the pan practically double in size. “Curt!” Owen quickly turned the stove back down to a lower setting. “I said  _ simmer _ . We’re not trying to boil it.” He shook his head with a small laugh, “You really are hopeless, aren’t you.”

“Cooking just isn’t my thing, okay! If we went fishing or something I’d be the one laughing.”

Owen raised a brow, “Fishing?”

“Yeah, fishing. We used to go all the time when I was a kid. Got really good at it too. Maybe if you’re ever stateside I can take you and completely destroy you with my mad skills.” He smiled widely. 

“Alright, whenever I have free time, I’ll have to take you up on that.”

“Which is never,” Curt said. It was true, the life of a spy was definitely a busy one. There was seldom time for him to travel home more than a few days at a time.

“That reminds me,” Owen said as he used the spoon to pour the curry over the rice Curt had made onto two plates. “We obviously aren’t going to be working this mission forever.”

“Well, yeah, of course. What’re you trying to say?”

“I’m saying,” Owen sighed, “I’m saying I don’t know how this is going to work, Curt. I really  _ want  _ it to, don’t get me wrong, but,” he bit his lip, “we don’t even know if we’ll see each other again after this.” 

“Don’t say that. Please, Owen, don’t say that. We took down an entire terrorist organization in what, 3 days?”

“Well, technically we still have to find Mar—“

“Shut up. We blew up the compound, so now all we have to do is tie up loose ends, and that doesn’t count. So we took down the terrorist organization in 3 days, right, which has got to be a record. There’s no way MI6 and the Secret Service won’t pair us up in the future, we work too well together.”

“I suppose. But still, it may be months before we see each other again after this.” 

“Yeah, but plenty of people can make long distance relationships work. We’ll write letters or something, how about that?”

Owen sighed, “That sounds lovely, Curt.” 

They ate the curry they had prepared without much conversation. Just being with each other was enough for the time being. Owen made Curt do the dishes since he’d done the majority of the cooking, which Curt did begrudgingly. He despised mundane tasks like this, but he was willing to do it to prove to Owen that he was at least good at something. Their evening was spent trying to track down Marco Ramos, the leader of Nightshade. He was tricky to find, because apparently Marco Ramos was an alias he used with the group for security reasons. That made their job much harder, but they wound up finding records of a man connected to the name with some new record keeping technology MI6 had been developing. 

“Eduardo Perez,” Owen said. “That’s our guy.” 

“We should go now, he probably won’t stay in the country long.”

“Mm, good idea. Should we try his home or work address?” 

“I’d say home. He’s probably hiding out now that the compound’s blown to smithereens.” Curt smiled at the thought of the destroyed building, complete with flaming rubble crumbling apart.

“Are we taking him alive?”

“We don’t need him alive, the compound’s already gone. He’ll be less trouble for us if he’s dead.” Curt thought for a moment, contemplating the gravity of the situation. He didn’t like to kill unless it was absolutely necessary, but it was good to kill someone if they were the leader of a terrorist ring plotting to hurt people, right?

“Hurry up, Mega,” Owen said, already at the door and pulling on his jacket. “We’ve got a terrorist to catch.

Curt nodded, “Right behind you.” 


	5. The Last Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone please help me come up with better chapter names. Uh anyway, Curt and Owen pay a visit to the leader of Nightshade's house with the intent to kill him, but things go a bit awry )-:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a warning, there is some torture involved in this chapter (nothing too graphic i promise) as well as the usage of the f-slur

Curt didn’t even bother to listen and see if anyone was home before kicking down the door with his gun drawn. He pressed his back against Owen’s, methodically searching every room of the small house. They rifled through every closet, looked behind every closed door, but Perez was nowhere to be found. Curt lowered his gun, sighing discontentedly and headed for the front door. 

“I guess we can try his work address.” 

“That will not be necessary,” spoke a voice with a heavy accent. There was the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked, and the two spies turned around slowly with their hands raised. Curt cursed under his breath as the man, presumably Perez, raised a gun to his head. Two other men followed behind Perez, also with guns. “So you are the men who destroyed my building, I take it.” Neither of them answered, and Curt grit his teeth. He felt the barrel of the gun dig into his temple. “I will take that as a yes, then, gentlemen,” Perez laughed. “Now, tell me. Who do you two work for?” Once again, they kept their mouths closed. Curt had been trained extensively in this sort of situation, and the best thing to do for him was just to stay silent. He wasn’t a good enough actor to tell a convincing lie. Perez motioned for the two men to hold their guns to each of the agents’ heads while he rifled around his house searching for something. This was not looking good. 

“Owen,” he said softly, meeting the other spy’s gaze as if to say  _ we’re going to get out of here _ . Owen nodded.

“Curt.”

Perez returned with rope and two chairs. The men forced Curt and Owen down into the chairs, binding their wrists with the rope. Curt presented his hands to his captor with his palms together and his elbows apart. His training had included skills to get out of situations like these, and he hoped Owen had learned something similar. Once they were tied up, Perez barked a command at the two gun-wielding men, and they left. Curt caught a few words of what Perez said, something about preparing a car. But all that mattered now was that Perez was outnumbered. And that meant if Owen could manage to distract him long enough for Curt to free himself, they might just be able to escape. 

“I will ask you once more,” Perez sneered, getting up in Owen’s face. “Who do you work for.” Owen spat on the man, to which Perez responded by hitting Owen with the butt of his gun, leaving a large gash on the side of his face that was already beginning to bruise and swell up. 

“No! Owen, baby, please! Don’t hurt him!” Curt instantly regretted speaking, but the words were out of his mouth before he could even think about them. He bit his tongue, not willing to look Perez or Owen in the eyes. 

“Oh,” Perez began to laugh hysterically, “ _ oh _ ! I see, you two are,” his words were interrupted by another bout of maniacal laughter, “you two are regular sodomites!” He took a good look at Curt, “Wait,  _ the  _ Agent Curt Mega is a perverted, how do you say,” he paused for a moment, spitting the next word he spoke with incredible disgust, “ _ faggot _ . Who would have thought. This is good, too good.” 

“How do you know my name?” Curt said softly, his tone laced with bitter arsenic. 

“Well, Mega, you are not exactly a low-profile agent. It makes me wonder why I did not recognize you sooner.” He laughed again, “Oh, but your little confession makes my job a whole lot easier. You will tell me everything I need to know otherwise I will not hesitate to reveal your little secret to everyone at the American Secret Service.” Curt bared his teeth, tearing up at the thought. It was either die at the hands of Perez, or be outed and lose his job and reputation, even potentially being locked up in an asylum. He didn’t know which fate was worse at the time. 

“What do you want to know?” Curt asked defeatedly. While Perez was talking to him, he saw Owen rubbing his ropes against the back corner of his chair. Curt turned his gaze away quickly, not wanting to give Owen away. 

“You will tell me exactly where my associates are being held, and you will tell me your fellow agent’s name as well.”

“I’m not doing that!” He snarled. Curt would never give up Owen’s identity, even if it meant getting his secret leaked. He was already too far gone, and he wasn’t about to drag Owen into this mess with him. 

“I think you will,” Perez said with a twisted smile, looking over at Owen. The British spy immediately stopped sawing through his ropes as Perez turned to him, shutting his eyes and bracing himself for another attack. Perez delivered a swift blow to Owen’s cheek with his fist, Owen letting out a sharp cry of pain. Curt bit his lip, unable to keep his emotions from guiding him. All of his training seemed worthless now, because it wasn’t just him watching a coworker get beaten up, it was watching Owen.  _ His  _ Owen. He couldn’t keep watching this.

“Alright, alright!” He shouted, dropping his voice to a meek whisper. “Just please don’t hurt him.” 

“I want to hear you beg for his life, Agent Mega.”

“Please don’t hurt him,” Curt repeated slowly, a few stray tears falling down his cheeks. This was it. He had finally found someone who he truly cared about, and who cared about him in return, and now it was all over. It was nice while it lasted. “Please.” 

“Very good, Mega,” Perez said with a bone-chilling smile. 

“Now it’s your turn,” Owen said coldly, standing up and knocking the gun out of Perez’s hands as the severed ropes fell off his wrists. He cocked his gun, digging it into the man’s skull. “Beg, you sick son of a—”

“Okay, okay!” Perez cut Owen off, shutting his eyes and clenching his jaw. Curt felt no pity for the man, wishing Owen would hurry up and just shoot him already. He wanted to see the blood pooling around his head as he lay crumpled on the floor, his eyes glassy and blank. “Do not shoot, please.”

“Get down on your knees,” Owen commanded. His voice was calm, but Curt could hear the rage that bubbled under the surface of his words. “Get down on your knees,” he growled more forcefully, pressing the barrel of the gun and twisting it into the flesh of Perez’s head. Perez muttered what sounded like a prayer under his breath, chanting it over and over again as he kneeled with his head hanging to his chest. “Look at me.” Perez did as he was told, meeting Owen’s gaze with pure resentment burning in his dark eyes. Owen lifted Curt swiftly out of his chair with one hand, pulling the American agent into a kiss. Pulling back after a few seconds, Owen turned to Perez with a smile, and pulled the trigger against his head. 

— 

Curt wiped the dried blood off of the side of Owen’s head with a warm washcloth. Owen winced at the sting, clutching Curt’s hand tightly. 

“Almost done,” Curt promised, trying his best to be gentle with the other spy. He paused for a moment, the night’s mission on his mind. “So, what was that for?”

“I don’t follow, love.”

“You know, you kissing me in front of Perez?” 

Owen smiled to himself, “I wanted the last thing he saw to be us. Sort of a big middle finger to him, if that makes sense.” Owen’s smile was contagious, causing Curt to follow suit. 

“Well look whose brain is,” Curt did an exaggerated impression of Owen’s posh accent, “bigger than a biscuit.” 

“Sod off, Curt, I do not sound like that.” Owen feigned annoyance, crossing his arms. But eventually he dropped the act and laughed with Curt. 

“You most certainly do!”

“You mock me, Mega.”

“Yep, pretty much!”

“And after all the times I saved your life,” Owen sighed, “makes me wonder if I really even love you.”

Curt paused, drinking in Owen’s words and considering the implications. 

“You… You love me?” 

Owen didn’t say anything for a moment, looking down at the tacky carpet of Curt’s hotel room. “Yes, I suppose I do,” he finally said, offering Curt a hesitant smile. They sat on the bed in quiet understanding for a while, Curt trying to process what was happening. Owen  _ loved  _ him. The British spy had saved his life twice now, which he supposed was proof in and of itself, but love? That was a strong word. Curt had brief relationships before, and the phrase had been casually thrown around.  _ I love you, Curt. I love you so much _ . But they were empty, and he had been abandoned when things got tough. He wasn’t sure if he could honestly say that he loved Owen in return, fearing that his proclamation might be proven false. No, Curt took the phrase extremely seriously. But, he figured Owen felt the same. The other agent didn’t seem the type to go declaring his love willy-nilly, so Curt trusted him when he uttered the words. “What are you thinking about?” Owen asked, tilting his head inquisitively and scooting closer to Curt on the edge of the bed. 

Curt shrugged, “Dunno. Trying to figure this out I guess.” 

Owen nodded with a sigh, “That’s fair. This has all been very… sudden, to say the least. I can give you some space if you need.” Curt shook his head, he didn’t want space. It sounded selfish in his mind, but he wanted Owen to prove his love. To show him that he meant what he’d said. He wanted this annoying, arrogant, abrasive agent to hold him tight and never let go. 

“Don’t go, please,” Curt said softly, wrapping his arms around Owen’s shoulders and burying his face into the crook of his neck. 

“Curt, love, you’re impossible,” Owen said, leaning into the embrace and letting his cheek rest on Curt’s head. Gently running his fingers through Curt’s hair, Owen began to hum a tune he’d heard at the bar. He didn’t know exactly how it went, what the words were, or if Curt knew the song, but he hummed it all the same. Curt had no idea how long they cuddled, it could have been mere minutes or it could have been hours. It was fuzzy, muddled, warm, and cozy like a dream, and Curt’s heart sank as he knew, like all dreams, that it would eventually have to end. The rhythmic rising and falling of Owen’s chest lulled him into an almost sleep-like stupor, before the other agent pulled away and stood up. He stretched, letting out a yawn as he did so.

“It’s getting late, we ought to call it a night so we don’t miss our flights home tomorrow,” Owen said. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

“What was that?”

“I said you’re  _ right _ , Carvour, are you deaf?”

Owen smirked, “No, just wanted to hear you admit defeat another time.”

Curt gave him a playful shove, “I hate you,” he said with a smile.

“Didn’t seem to be the case last night.” Owen shot him a wink. 

“If I throw a stick, will you leave?” 

“Oh, so I’m a dog now, hm?” 

“Sure are.” 

“You, love, are the reason the gene pool needs a lifeguard.” 

Curt laughed at this, glad that their bantering hadn’t disappeared now that they were more than just partners. It was nice to have someone to simultaneously tease and cuddle with, a friend and a foe all wrapped up in one. 

“You want to sleep here again?” Curt asked. 

Owen nodded, “I’d love to.” 

They quickly showered, Owen calling dibs on taking one first. Curt’s heart practically stopped in his chest as Owen emerged from the bathroom, his wet hair slicked back and nothing but a towel around his waist. 

“You know, a picture would last longer,” Owen chuckled. “Now go take a shower, love, I refuse to share a bed with a man who smells of rubbish.” 

Curt nodded sharply, too embarrassed to shoot back with a witty remark. He hopped into the shower, the water immediately warm, the hot stream washing away the dirt and grime and blood of the day. He let himself be present in the moment, not thinking of anything at all besides the steamy cloud that rose around him, loosening his aching muscles. He wrapped a towel around him, changing into a t-shirt and boxers, what he normally wore to bed. He didn’t want to weird Owen out their first night together, but he figured tonight would be a bit less awkward. 

He joined Owen in the slightly too small bed, not bothering with the pillow barrier this time around. He rolled onto his side and faced the other agent, tracing Owen’s jaw lightly with his thumb and doing his best to avoid the large bruise on his cheek from Perez. There was a place in the bone where Curt felt a split, as if it had been broken and not set properly.

“What happened?” He asked. It wasn’t uncommon to get injuries in this line of work, in fact, the bullet that had grazed Curt’s shoulder would probably leave a nice scar.

“That’s a story for another time, love,” Owen said. Curt, being the nosy prick he was, wanted answers.

“What, were you tortured or something? I’ve had worse than that in an interrogation room, I’ll tell you that.” Curt pulled down the collar of his t-shirt, revealing a jagged scar across his chest that still looked a bit pink and angry. “Got this one in Norway back in ‘53.”

Owen shook his head, “No, got this when I was a kid. I don’t really want to talk about it,” he said, a hint of solemnity in his voice. Curt took the hint. Owen lifted his shirt, showing off a few small but deep looking marks on his abdomen. Curt also couldn’t ignore the fact that Owen had a lot of ab muscle going on, a sight that made him flush a faint shade of pink. Owen was definitely not scrawny, you really couldn’t be in this line of work, but  _ wow _ . “Stabbed three times in a casino in Yugoslavia. Hurt like a bugger, that’s for sure.” 

They compared scars for a bit longer, talking about the various missions they’d served all across the globe, recalling their adventures and dreaming up plans for future ones as well. It was nice, just talking so openly with Owen like this. His mom was aware of what he did for a living, but never wanted to hear about what he was doing on a job. Not that Curt could blame her, she worried about him immensely, and listening to him recount his narrow escapes from death would send her to the grave undoubtedly. They eventually decided it would be best to get some rest, being as they both had planes to catch relatively early the next morning. So, it was with his head contentedly resting on Owen’s chest that Curt Mega fell asleep. 

— 

Curt opened his eyes to a dark room. The sun’s first rays were just beginning to peek over the trees outside and spill into their hotel room, casting speckles of golden light all over the incredibly tacky carpet. He closed his eyes again, reaching over to hold onto Owen’s arm, but not feeling anything. The bed was cold beside him. Curt blindly groped around a bit before cracking open his eyes again. 

“Owen?” He called out sleepily. 

“Right here, love,” Owen said from the kitchen. The aroma of sizzling sausages wafted through the crisp morning air. 

“You’re making breakfast?”

“Of course. I love the food here, don’t get me wrong, but I thought something homemade would taste good right about now.” Owen smiled over at him. Curt sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stretching his arms upward with a grunt. “Here you are, love.” Owen set down a plate beside Curt, complete with sausages, scrambled eggs, and a piece of toast with jam. 

“Jeez, I’m getting the royal treatment over here. Breakfast in bed!”

“Don’t get used to it, Mega.”

Curt shut his mouth and scarfed everything down. Owen’s cooking was sublime, and he was starving. Neither of them had eaten anything the previous night. 

“Thanks, babe.” The British spy’s face flushed a bit as Curt shortened his name. 

“I, er, you’re welcome.” 

“What’s wrong? Can’t take what you dish out?”

Owen didn’t have a response for this, taking Curt’s plate and setting in the sink. 

“Get your lazy arse out of bed and do the dishes, will you?” He asked sharply. 

Curt grumbled, “Fine. But only because you asked me  _ so  _ nicely.”

“Curt.” 

“Owen.”

“Do the dishes.”

“Okay.” 

They didn’t speak much to each other that morning, knowing their time together was inevitably coming to a close. It was better to brush that fact under the rug, to carry on like normal so they didn’t get too sad. But, their conversation was strained, as both parties were painfully aware that they would have to part shortly. After finishing scrubbing the dishes, Curt pulled Owen into a tight hug. 

“What am I going to do without you?” He asked, burying his face into Owen’s shoulder and trying to take in the pungent scent of his cologne and commit it to memory. 

“You’ll be fine,” Owen assured him, his voice wavering slightly as if he were also trying to convince himself. It was strange to think how drastically a life could change over the span of four days. They hugged for a moment, and each left to his respective room to pack his bags. After Curt finished stuffing his clothes into his suitcase, he knocked on Owen’s door lightly. “Come in,” he said.

Curt opened the door, Owen’s room was spotless, the bed neatly made and not a single speck of dust or dirt on anything. Even the shower looked clean, which was surprising since Owen had gotten pretty bloody after their encounter with Perez. “Everything alright, Curt?” Owen asked.

“No, yeah, everything’s fine. I just wanted to, uh, officially say goodbye I guess.” He stood awkwardly in the center of the room while Owen zipped up his suitcase. He walked over to the other agent, bending down and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m going to miss you,” Curt said, matter-of-factly.

“Me too. But remember, we’ll see each other again soon. Don’t worry.”

Curt paused for a moment, remembering all that had occurred between them since they’d met. Owen kicking him in the balls in Morocco, their uncomfortable stakeout, him trying (and failing) to flirt with Flores, them interrogating Díaz, all the flirting and bantering that he now remembered, and the night at the bar. Then them breaking into the compound and Curt setting the bomb. He remembered the angry look in Owen’s eyes, the glint of pure rage that had consumed his irises. And yet Owen still saved his life, dragging him out of the compound just in time before the bomb exploded. Their first kiss, their second kiss, and sleeping in the same bed only to wake up completely tangled together in the morning. Making the curry, and being tied up by Perez. It was a good mission, all things considered. And Curt realized something standing there.

“I love you, Owen.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HHHRHRRRRNNGNGNNGGG next chapter is the final one!! this has been such a wonderful journey for me and i am so grateful for all of you readers!!


	6. Epilogue

The plane ride was long and boring, as usual. Luckily it wasn’t as long as some of his flights from Asia, but it was still a good distance. It was around 11 hours long, and by hour four, Curt was bored out of his brain. His mind was consumed with thoughts of Owen. He had been met with silence after his proclamation of love, and Curt had been a bit worried that he’d said something to upset Owen in some way. But then his partner hugged him tightly, planting gentle kisses along his jaw with the delicacy of raindrops tenderly pattering against his skin. 

“Curt,” Owen said, holding Curt’s face in his hands with an uncharacteristically goofy looking smile. 

“Owen,” he responded, nuzzling up against his chest with a contented sigh. 

Curt was shook from the memory by a bout of turbulence that rocked the fuselage of the plane sharply. He gripped onto the arms of his chair until his knuckles were white. Flying was nerve-wracking before, but the turbulence did nothing but add to his anxieties. One would think he’d have gotten used to flying by now, since it seemed he was on a plane at least once every week or two, but nope, he was still frightened at the prospect of being trapped in a metal tube 38,000 feet above the ground. Curt tried to get some sleep, but to no avail. He could fall asleep pretty much anywhere relatively quickly, but not planes. Maybe it was the turbulence keeping him up, or maybe it was thoughts of Owen, he wasn’t sure. He did know that it would be a tough time until they saw each other again. They’d made plans to write letters, which he appreciated immensely, but it wouldn’t do enough to scratch the itch of wanting a companion. Maybe he’d have to get a dog or something to compensate for Owen’s absence. 

He landed in D.C. and went through all the motions, calling a taxi to take him to the Secret Service headquarters. It wasn’t much, just a large and slightly menacing brick building, but he was happy to be back home. The familiar sights and sounds helped to ease the longing in his heart. Curt checked in with the secretary, managed to slip past the lab without Barb noticing his presence, and made his way into Cynthia’s office as she’d requested. 

“Mega,” she said, dipping her head slightly as he sat down in front of her desk. “Congratulations on the successful mission. Your work was… adequate.” Leave it to Cynthia to avoid giving him due praise for a job well done.

“Thanks, Cynthia,” Curt said. “Most of it was Agent Carvour’s doing.”

“And speaking of Agent Carvour,” Cynthia stood up, her high heels clicking against the tile floor as she pulled a small device off her shelf. “Why the  _ hell _ do I have security footage of you making out with an MI6 agent?” She pressed a button on the device, and there came the unmistakable sounds of passionate grunts and faint whines. Cynthia fast forwarded a bit. “Shh, it’s okay,” the voice was staticky but it was undeniably his. “I’m just like you, Owen. I’m just like you.” 

Those were damning words, both for him and Owen. Curt felt a sensation of pure terror sink in his gut, the color draining from his face at Cynthia’s words. Time seemed to slow to a halt in that moment, Cynthia’s expression unreadable. He opened his mouth, his brows knit with fear. “I— I can explain, just please, don’t let anything happen to Owen.”

“Listen, Curt,” Cynthia sat back down and crossed her hands over the desk. “I personally don’t give a rat’s ass about what you do in your personal time.” Curt let out a sigh of relief, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. 

“I understand if this means I’m fired—”

“Let me finish talking.” Cynthia glared, taking a deep breath and continuing to speak. “You’re not going to get fired. But,” she paused. Here it came. Curt’s life as he knew it was over, every hope of potentially seeing Owen again flushed down the drain. “I would suggest you check for bugs next time you two are stationed together.” Curt’s mouth went slack as Cynthia spoke. Was this really happening? “Come on, Mega, pick your jaw up off the floor.”

“I, uh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Cynthia dropped the device on the floor and crushed it under her heel. “Now get out of my office.” 

—

And life went on, as it always does. Things were hard, but they got better. And then they got hard again, like the cycle of seasons. Always coming, always going, everything constantly changing and shifting and merging and melding together. Curt saw Owen again, and they were happy together. They were spies, for God’s sake, and they were in love, so why wouldn’t they be happy? Sure, the job was hard. They were knocked down, but they always got back up. They always got back up again and continued to fight, because that’s what spies do. They fight for what’s right, they fight for the people they love and for strangers alike. Curt and Owen made the most of their time together, even if it meant stealing secret kisses in alleyways or flirting in the darkness of a carefully inspected hotel room. Their love was hidden, but it burned bright. They lived for tomorrow, and loved for today, just as spies ought to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CYNTHIA IS THE ONE TRUE ALLY!! And that's a wrap!! Thank you guys SO much for reading and giving me feedback! This was such a fun adventure, and I seriously cannot thank you all enough for your love and support. Stay tuned for more Curtwen content bc I've got plans for more!!

**Author's Note:**

> comments & kudos are greatly appreciated, I crave validation (':


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